


Ah, My Foes, And Oh, My Friends

by Omorka



Category: Ghostbusters (1984)
Genre: Dubious Consent, Het, Multi, Non-Graphic Violence, Slash, Vampires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-28
Updated: 2009-12-28
Packaged: 2017-10-05 09:19:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,181
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/40119
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Omorka/pseuds/Omorka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Janine's glad she read all those fantasy novels, but this situation will require some more esoteric literature.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ah, My Foes, And Oh, My Friends

**Author's Note:**

> It's not a vampire AU if this is already a comedy-horror fandom, right? Written for the prompts "Burn, Vampires, Messiness and markers of arousal." Somewhat goofy, even for this fandom, but hey, comedy-horror. (Such a good excuse!)

A cool breeze, smelling of wood smoke from somewhere and the diesel of a hundred passing busses, stirred the papers on Janine's desk as Ecto-1A pulled to a halt. She glanced up and hit the automatic garage door button, then looked at her watch. They'd only been gone a little over an hour.

Peter removed his feet from the blotter on his desk, rose carefully to his feet, and stretched, leaning against the back of the bank of filing cabinets. "Hey, guys," he called as Egon and Ray climbed out of the old ambulance. "You're back early. What's the deal?"

"False alarm. Squeaky-door call," Ray explained, mild disappointment wrinkling his features. He tossed the keys to Winston. "Your turn to drive next."

"Sure, no problem," Winston answered, catching the glittering bits of metal as they arced towards him. He winced as they hit his hand.

"It was probably to our advantage," Egon added, removing a ghost trap from the equipment rack in the back of the vehicle. "This trap has developed a minor positronic field leak. I'm going to see if it's repairable." He wrapped the cable around his arm and headed for the basement stairs.

"Sure, go right ahead," Peter nodded. He picked up a container of leftover Chinese takeout that had been on his desk since lunch and poked at the fried rice with one chopstick. "We should order dinner soon, too. It's getting late."

"Yeah, I'd love to grab a bite soon," Ray called back from halfway up the stairs. He grinned and disappeared into the rec room.

Janine shuffled the papers on her desk again. Ever since she'd broken things off with Louis, she'd been spending longer and longer hours at the firehouse again. Not, she told herself firmly, because she was still carrying a torch for Egon, but because she really didn't have anything in her life other than her work, these days. On the other hand, being an full-time employee of the Ghostbusters had its minor perks, too - pretty much any mystery, fantasy, horror, or sci-fi bookshop she stepped into offered her a discount on the spot. She spent a lot of nights with a good book.

"Janine?" came Dr. Spengler's muffled voice from the basement stairs. "I think I left the multivolt calibration sensor on the rolling table next to Ecto. Could you please see if it's still there?"

There was something about his voice that warmed her. _No,_ she reminded herself, _we tried that once already, and it didn't work out._ Still, her feet seemed to move without any effort on her part. She hunted through the bits of electronics on the metal tray until she found something that looked like a completed gadget. "Does it have a big blue dial on the front?"

"That's it. Would you bring it down here, please?" His tone was no different from normal, as far as she could tell, but his words caught her like a fish on a hook and reeled her in. Ray called something to Peter through the firepole opening as she very nearly floated down the stairs.

The overhead light was off; the basement was lit by the two oversized desk lamps clamped to the workbench. Egon was perched on the corner of the bench, the trap sitting in the pool of light behind him with the cartridge removed. He'd removed his uniform and draped it over the chair behind him. The collar of his shirt was crooked, pushed out of order when he'd loosened his tie, she guessed. His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, and he'd kicked off his boots - he was standing in his stocking feet.

_That's not right,_ some part of her mind said. _He should be up to his wrists in the guts of the trap by now._ The rest of her conscious mind was swept away by the look he was giving her.

He was leering at her. It was the most vicious version of his Mad Scientist look, the one that made him look like a cold-blooded predator. His eyes were dark and narrow, and looking at her like a particularly fascinating lab specimen.

Something tightened below her stomach. She swallowed. "Here you go, Egon," she said, holding out the hoosiwhatsis.

He took it with one hand and curled the long, spidery fingers of the other around her wrist, setting the gadget behind him. "Thank you, Janine. I appreciate you being willing to do that for me." The leer twisted a little further; she could see his tongue slide across the inside of his lower lip. "I don't think I've told you recently how much I appreciate everything you do for us." He tugged her gently towards him.

"Egon." She was torn between wanting to chastise him for touching her like this, and clinging to every word of approval he offered. Her wrist burned with unexpressed need where his skin touched her. "What - "

His other arm curled around her waist. "I'm a fool, Janine." His breath was cool on her skin as he spoke.

"That's ridiculous." She meant the words to be stern and no-nonsense; instead, they came out plaintive and soft. He pressed her to him; she felt her body begin to warm.

"No, I truly am. I've overlooked you for years. What we had together, before it all fell apart on us, was the most satisfying relationship I've ever had. I let losing the dream of this place, of this business, take you away from me, too." He had her tight against him now, both his arms holding her. "Janine, I want you. I _want_ you."

"You . . . do?" she squeaked. The room was too warm and smelled like something she couldn't quite place. His eyes drew hers upwards to meet his gaze, dark and staring and full of _hunger_, and her nipples hardened under the fabric of her blouse.

"Yes," he whispered, and his mouth came down on hers. She whimpered as she tasted him, G-d, it had been so long and there was something different about him now but she didn't care, he tasted so _good_. She melted against the lean hardness of him, and he made a small, guttural noise in his throat as he nipped at her upper lip, slid his tongue against her lower lip, let her lap at him like a cat.

The blood was rushing in her ears; she almost felt like she was about to faint. He leaned into her, curling half around her, and began nipping his way down her cheek to her neck. His mouth was hot on her, almost burning. She sighed and shifted her hands, one falling to his chest as he growled against her skin. He bit down, and her heart fluttered.

_Waitaminute, something's not right here!_ that corner of her brain screamed. The blazing heat that was trickling down her spine threatened to swamp the thought, but she turned her attention to it, if only to dismiss it once and for all.

Her hand - his chest -

_I can't feel his heartbeat._

Her own skin was blazing, but except for his mouth, his skin against hers didn't feel hot, barely felt warm. Even in the, well, where she knew she could get him hot from previous experience.

Something was very, very wrong. She leaned back to catch her breath and then spun away from him, something tearing painfully at the spot where her neck met her shoulder; she felt him clutch at her at the unexpected movement, and she forced her eyes open.

He snapped his mouth shut and licked the blood from his lips, but not before she saw the fangs. His eyes glowed coal-red behind his glasses in the dim room. The disarray his collar was in failed to hide two red marks at his throat.

"Holy shit!" she yelped, the spell broken, the room no longer steam-warm. She bolted for the stairs, terrified for her life.

"Janine, _wait_!" he shouted. The psychic compulsion she hadn't identified before hit her again like a glass wall, and her limbs felt like she was swimming through molasses. Dammit, she needed a cross or something.

Or something. Wait, Egon wasn't Christian either . . . she flailed and seized on the first thing that came to mind. Well, it was what you were supposed to say before you died, anyway, right?

"_Shema Yisrael, Adonai Eloheinu . . . _" she forced out between lips that didn't want to move. Egon's scarlet eyes went wide, and he yelped; the compulsion faltered and went out like a flame doused in holy water. She raced up the stairs, thankful she'd worn flats today.

"Stop!" Egon growled, his footfalls behind her on the steps nearly silent. She wheeled at the top, grabbing the bannister and the first thing that came to hand.

Peter's fried rice. A flicker of a remembered folk-tale raced through her mind. She whirled again and flung it down the stairs; it hit halfway down and broke open, spilling rice everywhere.

"Shit," Egon spat, and dropped to a crouch, his fingers combing through the grains.

Honestly, she was surprised that had worked. Winston stood up from the quick-charger, baffled. "Janine? What's wrong - oh, crap, you're bleeding."

"Winston, where's Peter?" She wasn't surprised; she felt lightheaded enough.

"Ray called him upstairs. What the hell is going on?"

"Crud." She raced up the stairs, Winston at her heels.

He caught at her shoulder as she made it off the top landing. "Seriously, Janine, what in the living - oh, _shit_," Winston finished, as they just barely managed not to skid into Ray with his face buried in Peter's shoulder. Peter looked unconscious, dangling from Ray's arms like a rag doll.

Ray looked up, startled, and dropped Peter's limp body. "No, really, guys, it's not what it looks like! I can explain everything!" he started, his eyes like iron in a forge, Peter's blood dripping from his lips.

"I'll bet. Janine, scoot!" Winston scooped up Peter's body in one arm and ran for the flagpole; Janine was already sliding down. She hit the floor running and yanked open Ecto's back door. Winston landed off-balance, swung around and caught himself, and flung Peter into the back seat. Janine dove in after him, and Winston hauled the driver's door open as she leaned up and punched the garage door opener on the main console. Winston landed behind the steering wheel as Ray jumped down, not even bothering with the pole.

"Dammit, where's Egon?" Winston snarled, jamming the key into the ignition.

"He's in the basement. I threw a box of rice at him, and now he has to count every grain." Winston threw her a blank stare as she opened the glove compartment and clawed through it. "He's a vampire, too, just get us out of here!"

"Oh." The engine roared to life as Ray reached them, his hands grabbing for the door handle. "Well, at least that'll take him a while." Ecto jumped backwards, and Ray nearly fell forward; he hissed like a snake, fangs out.

"Winston, this is _Egon_, he might be _done_ by now!" She grabbed a fast-food salt packet from the glove compartment, tore it open, rolled down the window and flung it at Ray. He screeched and clawed at his eyes. "Get us out of here!"

"You got it." Ecto peeled out into the street and shot westward. Their luck was good; traffic was thick enough to hide in and light enough to keep moving. They lost Ray within a couple of blocks.

"Aiggggh," Peter groaned.

"Oh, thank G-d, he's not dead," sighed Janine. She sat back and looked at the man who signed her paychecks. "Winston, he's still bleeding; what do I do?"

He glanced up in the rear-view mirror. "Look in the pocket behind you. There should be some shop cloths in there. Hopefully, one of them's clean."

She rummaged around. Peter let out another gurgling moan. "Okay, I think I found one. Now what?"

Winston made a sudden left turn. "Press it against the wound until it stops bleeding. I'm going to head us towards a hospital."

She cradled his head in her lap, folded the mostly-clean shop rag into a pad, and pressed it against the two ragged cuts. "Don't you die on me, Dr. Venkman. You still owe me overtime." She glanced back at Winston's reflection. "Oh, crud, what if he dies? Won't he turn into a vampire, too? We can't take a potential vampire to a hospital."

"Doesn't the other vampire have to make him drink part of his blood for that to happen?" Ecto dodged between two busses; Winston gestured at one of the drivers. "I don't think Ray was bleeding anywhere."

"In some stories, yeah. In other ones, though, you just have to die from a vampire bite." She checked the pad. It was almost soaked through, but the bleeding had slowed to a trickle.

"Mmph." Venkman's eyes flickered open. "Huh. Hi, Melnitz. Nice view."

"Don't make me slap you while I'm stopping you from bleeding to death," she chided. "Especially when we're not sure if you're going to turn into a vampire or not."

"What the hell are you babbling - oh, _crap_, Ray!" Peter tried to sit up; Janine pushed him back down. "Where's Egon? We need to -"

"They got Egon, too," Janine hissed. She turned her head and showed Peter the matching marks on her own throat.

"Aw, no," Peter whined, dropping back. "They knew where to hit us, didn't they? Our two occult experts." He breathed heavily. "Man, my head is spinning. Feels almost like a hangover." He shivered. "Do we have a blanket or anything in here?"

"I suspect the vampire - or vampires - that got them would have taken whichever of us showed up," Winston shouted over the traffic noise. "It's just our crappy luck that they got the two who could figure out how to fix this."

"Who else do we know who might be able to help?" Janine asked, without much hope in her voice.

There was a long, uncomfortable silence. Finally, Peter stopped staring up at Janine's chest and sat up slightly. "Okay, it's not a great idea, but it's an idea. Winston, do you remember where Ray's shop was?"

Zeddemore frowned slightly. "Yeah, but he sold that off when we re-opened, didn't he?"

"Yeah, he did," Venkman agreed, "to a friend of his in the community. It's not much of a lead, but he might at least know something we can do."

"At least it's a destination. You two try and get cleaned up back there, before the cops notice us." Winston turned right and then right again.

\---

"Dr. Venkman," the man behind the counter smiled, "how can I possibly be of service to the Ghostbusters?"

"Can the mystery act, Jonathan, we're in deep marshmallow here." Peter slid heavily into one of the two chairs behind the counter.

The store's proprietor clucked. "Really, Dr. Venkman, how rude. You know I go by Therion professionally."

Janine squinted skeptically at the occultist. He was of middling height, maybe an inch shorter than Winston, and balding; his remaining hair on the back and sides was silver and cut very short. He had a neatly trimmed goatee, and wore octagonal tinted lenses. He looked the part, but Ray didn't, and Ray was the real deal; the show made her doubtful.

Peter wasn't interested in playing the game, either. "We've got vampire trouble, and bad. You got anything?"

"Psivamps or sanguinarians?" Therion asked, intrigued despite himself.

Venkman yanked his collar aside. "Whaddaya think?"

"What's a psivamp?" Janine asked.

Therion favored her with a small smile. "Psychic vampires are living people who drain the life energy from others. Not usually enough to kill; merely enough to depress."

"He didn't have a heartbeat," Janine said, shaking her head.

"Who didn't?" Therion leaned across the counter.

"Egon," she answered, the name bitter on her tongue.

"And Ray," Peter finished, gesturing at his neck again.

Therion's eyes flew wide open. "The two greatest occult experts in the city have been vampirized, and you came _here_? Are you crazy?" He rummaged in the jars on the shelf behind him, and found a jar of sea salt; shoving his way from behind the counter, he began pouring a thick line along the door and windowsills.

"You got a better idea?" Winston shot back. The store had made him a little nervous even when it was Ray who was running it; now, it gave him the heebie-jeebies. A carved stone gargoyle peered at him from one of the shelves; he reached up and turned it around to face the wall.

"No, I suppose not," Therion admitted. "While my immediate impulse is to throw you out, that's not exactly productive. If nothing else, I do have plenty of research material on the subject. But," he smiled thinly, "I do expect to be paid for my time as a consultant to such a prestigious organization."

"Speaking of vampires," spat Venkman.

The occultist shrugged. "You don't give out your services for free, Dr. Venkman."

Peter rubbed at his forehead. "You've got us over a barrel. All, right, thirty dollars an hour, starting now."

Therion opened his mouth as if he were about to haggle; Janine stared him down. "All right. Thirty dollars an hour it is. The appropriate section," he continued as he headed towards the tiny back room, "is this way."

Peter followed him up the steps into the back, the other two trailing behind him. "You got a sweater or something I can borrow? I don't remember it being this drafty when Ray owned the place."

Half an hour later, Janine looked up from the musty tome she was flipping through. "Dr. Venkman, when do you think they'll figure out we're here?"

Peter ran a shaking hand through his hair. "Well, if they'd followed us, they'd be here already. If they can track you and me by the blood connection, they'll be here any minute. Otherwise? Egon will take a while to think of this place; he'll be trying to track Ecto and her gadgetry. Don't worry, Jonathan," he added to Therion, "we parked in a garage eight blocks away." He turned a page. "Ray might think of it faster. I'm not sure."

Folding his hands, he leaned back against the wall. "The awful thing is, I'm pretty sure that was still Ray in there. I mean, an evil, predatory version of Ray, but it was still him."

"Yeah." Winston shut the book he was holding. "If Ray and Egon were gone, if it was just their bodies, I wouldn't hesitate to blast the crap out of them. I can't imagine they would have minded." He shook his head slowly. "But when we stopped him - yeah, that was Ray's reaction to the core. If we have to kill them, we've gotta do what we have to do. But if there's any way to save them -"

"Wait. You're sure they were alive when they left?" Therion had one finger in his book; he plucked Janine's off her lap and began flipping through it with his other hand.

The other three exchanged a worried glance. Then Winston nodded. "Ray, at least, I'm positive. He was huffing and puffing around the garage earlier today, and it was cold where the draft was coming in. I could see his breath."

"Not conclusive proof, but highly suggestive," Therion nodded.

"And Egon still had the bite marks when he tried to drink me," Janine added.

"So we can probably conclude it's been significantly less than twelve hours since their . . . conversions." Therion glanced back and forth between the two books and smirked thoughtfully. "I think I can give you a fifty percent chance of stopping them and about a thirty percent chance of getting them back."

"Not the best odds," Winston observed.

"No, but you have the proton packs as a backup, don't you?" Therion looked concerned again.

"They're in Ecto. I wasn't sure if Egon could trace them in here," Peter explained.

"A reasonable concern, I suppose. The other problem is that you'll have to trick them into ingesting this compound." Therion's finger traced a recipe written in medieval Hungarian.

Janine and Peter exchanged a glance. "I think that'll be less of a problem than you might think," Peter said. Janine swallowed and nodded her silent assent.

\---

Janine had a dozen reasons to be nervous, one of which was Peter's driving. "Are you sure this is safe?" she asked for the fourth time, as he circled past a wildly cursing cabbie.

"Janine, we're trying to bait my two best friends, either of whom could crush us with their IQ alone, both of whom are now hideous beasts of the night, in a car with a proton cannon mounted on the roof," Venkman reminded her. "Does _any_ part of that sound safe to you?" His hands trembled slightly on the wheel.

She sighed and didn't give that the dignity of an answer. Ecto crept past a statue at the park entrance, some long-dead general on horseback. She tried to remember what the horse having one foot off the ground meant.

There was a sudden thud on the roof, followed by a heavier one. She tried not to jump; they'd been expecting this, even hoping for it. The metallic aftertaste in her mouth was making it even dryer than the fear was.

Peter let Ecto coast to a stop and yanked the parking brake. He and Janine shot each other a shaky look. She wondered, briefly, if he had any prayer that would work for him.

With a shriek of twisting metal, both the front doors were wrenched off of Ecto. A pair of thick, strong hands grabbed her, snapped the seatbelt like a rubber band, and yanked her from the car; Peter yelped as he was dragged out on the other side.

Ray laughed in her ear, his eyes the red of the moon in eclipse. "Such tasty morsels. But we've got the wrong ones."

"Agreed," rumbled Egon's bass voice. Something in her quivered, and heat surged through her throat into her chest and downward. "Shall we trade?"

"Sure thing," Ray said, tossing her like she was a toddler. Egon's long, dextrous fingers plucked her from the air and held her against his chest. She struggled feebly, her ear pressed against his ribs and hearing nothing.

"Janine." His voice rang like a bell, a gong, a drum in the night. "Please, stop running. I want you." It dropped another half-octave. "I _need_ you."

The night air was thick and warm; the city turned into a jungle around her. "You're going to kill me," she whispered, as he lowered her to the ground and pinned her legs with his weight.

"No." He brushed his face, his long nose and sharp cheek, against the exposed skin of her neck; it burned like a candle flame. Wetness blossomed between her legs. "I have a gift for you. Is it fair that the ghosts get eternity, and we have only a few fleeting years?" His lips pressed gently against her pulse-point. "But even I can't face eternity without you and Peter. I won't be alone." His tongue dipped into the hollow of her throat, and she moaned.

"I . . . won't stop you," she breathed. It was a statement of fact.

"No, you can't," he agreed, and he slid one hand between her thighs as he sank his fangs into her.

She tried to scream, but all that left her lips was a gasp. He nudged her underwear out of the way, and his thumb found her clit, skating gentle circles around it as his mouth worked at her throat. Liquid fire trickled into her veins and set every nerve alight. One long finger probed into her, stroking carefully. Her hands twitched, flexed, dug into the fabric of his shirt and held on. She was a candle burning at both ends; she wouldn't last the night . . . .

Ray laid Peter out on the grass and straddled him. Janine's gasps rang out behind them. "Such lovely music," Ray smiled, shifting his weight against Peter.

"God, Ray, don't do this," Peter protested, but he didn't struggle. Ray seemed to glow like a bonfire in the night, the only heat in a cold world. So cold . . . so warm . . . .

"But I've wanted to for so long, Peter," Ray whispered, rolling his hips against Peter's. Peter felt the blood rushing to his groin despite himself.

"Ray . . . " he pleaded, his hands reaching up for his friend's arms. Touching him, the chill that had settled into him since waking up in Ecto fled, melting into need.

Ray moaned and ground against him harder. "Peter, you can't imagine - please, let me show you." One hand traced Peter's cheek, his ear, his throat; the touch threw off sparks into the cold night.

Janine cried out again; either she was coming, or she was almost gone. Either way, if Egon was going to react, he was going to do so soon.

Yielding was all too easy. Peter threw his head back, showing Ray his throat. "Ray, please."

The fangs sank in, and Peter's consciousness went up in flames.

\---

_Burning . . . ._

Too bright, too bright, too bright . . .

Something's boiling -

it's me

"Anything we can do for them?"

A foot shifting on grass. "Know any good prayers?"

"A few." Footfalls, familiar ones. "I'm better at hymns."

"Go for it."

A voice, raised in good gospel song: "This little light of mine, I'm gonna let it shine . . . "

_That's not gonna help us -_

but maybe -

oh god this hurts

on fire

weight on my chest

wait!

Ray's chest spasmed, and he gasped, convulsing around the cold air.

"Therion, he's breathing!" Winston's arms were suddenly around him, tilting him up. "Come on, Ray, keep at it, keep breathing!"

Janine wailed somewhere off to his left, a newborn's cry. The other pair of footsteps ran over to her. "Your secretary's back, too!"

"All _right_," cheered Winston fiercely. "Two down, two to go."

"Egon?" Janine called out. Ray opened his eyes and immediately wished he hadn't; the early morning sunlight stabbed through him like a pair of glass daggers.

"Egon, you bastard, wake up!" Janine shrieked. "You don't get to screw with me like that and then die before I can tell you what I think of your sorry ass!"

"Die? What?" Ray cracked one eye just enough to see where they were. It looked like Central Park; at least, it was an open lawn. He was flat on his back in the grass, feet pointed roughly east. Janine was facing him, now, crouched over - was that Egon's body?

"Egon?" Ray asked, sitting up. His stomach lurched; he turned aside and heaved. What came up was black and sticky, almost tarry.

"Auff," gasped Egon, his chest shuddering, then rising and dropping again like a bellows. He opened his eyes and then instantly thought better of it, squeezing them closed tight again.

"Egon!" Janine sighed, and then burst into tears. "Ray, are you all right?"

"I don't know," Ray answered honestly. "Where's - "

"Oh, G-d, Peter," Janine hiccuped. Ray rolled over in the other direction and saw what was clearly Peter's bloodless corpse. His stomach rebelled again, and he curled up into a cramped ball. Janine was still trying to talk between sobs - "Egon, what the hell, what were you _thinking_, what happened?"

"Excuse me," Egon mumbled, and then retched into the grass behind Ray.

Ray forced his eyes open again. "What - Egon, what happened to us?" He was staring into Peter's hair. "I remember a repeating vapor that read as a Class Eight -"

"We were tricked." Egon's voice was flat and cracking. "It was a vampiric spirit, and it turned us."

"Turned - us? Turned us into what?" Ray's eyes fell on the marks at Peter's neck, ragged and swollen. "Oh, no." He remembered the taste of Venkman's skin, his voice moaning in ecstasy as Ray drank him dry.

"Into vampires." Egon pushed himself to his hands and knees. "And then it sent us back to convert the rest of the team." He looked up. "We appear to have almost, but not quite, succeeded."

"Oh, Venkman," Ray whimpered. "Peter, Peter, I'm sorry." He rolled over and buried his face in Peter's shirt.

Janine spat into the grass. "Ray's old colleague here cooked up a potion that's supposed to paralyze a vampire long enough to stake them and set them out for the sun. Dr. Venkman and I drank enough of that mess to float a battleship and then smeared the rest on us like cold cream. When you guys tracked us down, you went right for us like cans of V-8, so when you tried to turn us, all four of us went stiff."

"Then instead of staking you," Winston continued, "we put all of you out here where the morning sun would hit you. Therion figured if you were too far gone, then the sun would - take care of you - and if there was still enough human left in you, then dawn would burn the vampiric magic off."

"Excellent thinking on your parts," Egon acknowledged. "And very, very brave of both you and Peter, Janine." He looked at her, then away, shame glittering in his eyes.

"I'm so sorry," Ray whispered, tears rolling down his face. Venkman's body was cool against his skin. "I wish it was me." Ray leaned upwards and pressed his mouth to Peter's.

Peter twitched, turned away, and coughed.

"Venkman!" Egon shouted, scooting across the grass to Ray's side.

Peter groaned and rolled into a sideways fetal position. "What truck ran me over?"

Winston heaved a huge sigh. "Okay, remind me to actually go to church this Sunday, 'cause that's worth giving thanks over."

Ray fell over on his back. "Amen to that."

Therion cleared his throat. "Just so you remember, there's now a vampiric specter of some sort out there that's just lost two minions, and is likely to be very unhappy about that."

"Correct." Egon leaned against a park bench and tried to stand up. "We need to get back to headquarters immediately and regroup. Is Ecto drivable?"

"Yeah, but it's got no doors and no seatbelts in the front," Winston answered.

"We'll drive slowly. Someone help Venkman up." Egon staggered to his feet. As Winston and Therion followed his directions, he put a hand on Janine's shoulder. "Janine, I apologize. I literally wasn't in control of myself. I also recognize that's not an excuse." His cheeks burned red.

"You can't rape someone willing." She stared at his feet. He still wasn't wearing any shoes. "And I was. But we're going to need to talk, once this little vampire problem is taken care of."

"Yes." He looked at her as if he were about to ask a question.

She shook her head, rose up on her toes, and forgave him with a kiss. He returned the embrace gratefully. "Thank you," he whispered into her hair.

"All in a day's work, working for you guys." She glanced at Peter, draped bonelessly between Ray and Winston, and dashed to open Ecto's back door for him again.


End file.
